Some things get better with time. Certain cheeses, wine from
what I hear, even an aged steak will make your taste buds stand up and take
notice. The older something is, chances are time has increased its value,
unless we’re talking about the last thirty years where everything was either
made in China or bought at Ikea; those things don’t retain value, never mind an
increase in value.
For someone under twenty, thirty years might seem like a
lifetime, ancient even, but I’m talking about really old things, like an 1800’s
carved mahogany writing desk with clawed feet and pearl inlay, painstakingly
hand-tooled by men of a time when such craftsmanship was admired and aspired
to.
One of those masterpieces will set you back a pretty penny
today, and even with the onset of furniture you assemble at home then brag
about how you did it all by your lonesome, some appreciate the detail, the
work, the patina, the history, and everything else that Ikea can never
replicate.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, some things do not age
well, and it doesn’t take long for them to spoil, go bad, become worthless, or
be proven fallacious. The list of things that don’t age well or that time is
not kind to be far longer than that of things that get better with time. From
that new car that just lost 30% of its value once you drove it off the lot, or
those nifty bellbottom pants that you were sure would never go out of style, to
disco music, leeching, crinoline dresses, powdered wigs, the list is inexhaustible.
The thing about time is that it proves things out. Some things stand the test
of time; others crumble into dust.
This is doubly true for predictions, whether they are of a
certain date, like all the hubbub over Y2K, or Harold Camping’s ill-fated
insistence that April of 2011 is when we should all stop paying our bills because
come the month of May we would be feasting at the banquet in the sky, or of a
certain imminent event like, I don’t know, off the top of my head, World War
III.
I hate beating a dead horse as much as the next guy, but this
particular one needs a few extra whacks for posterity if for nothing else. It’s
been less than a week since we were all supposed to lock ourselves in our
bunkers and dive headfirst into a bucket of potatoes au gratin compliments of
the Jim Baker show. This was it! The end was here, and at best, we had time to
kiss our loved ones goodbye and see one last sunset without the backdrop of a
mushroom cloud.
It used to be that when an individual predicted something of
this magnitude and time proved that it was either wishful thinking or something
wholly of the flesh without an ounce of divine revelation, they’d slink away
for a few years, lick their wounds, hopefully repent, spend some serious time
in prayer and seeking the face of God, then return to the public arena.
Nowadays, someone can be wrong today, not apologize for
scaring people into heart murmurs, not acknowledge they were wrong, then come
out with another apocalyptic, extinction-level prediction for tomorrow. Even
though they sometimes preface what they say with I feel, or I believe, or I
think I heard from the Lord, they are bolstered in their foolishness by a
handful of others whom I’ve dubbed the I bear witness choir. You know, every
time someone ‘has a word,’ they’re the first to bear witness, no matter how
outlandish the word might be.
Either it’s from the Lord, or it’s your opinion, and if you
say it’s the Lord, it better be. How will we know? Time. Time will reveal the
truth of the matter more thoroughly than anything else because if you tell me
the Lord told you we’d be glowing in the dark from nuclear fallout by mid-January
and now I have to scramble to find a Valentine’s day present for my wife
because it didn’t happen, allow me to either call you a liar to your face or
declare that you did not hear from the Lord.
With love in Christ,
Michael Boldea Jr.
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